Free Sweet Bondage by Dorothy Vernon

of person did he think she was? Did he hold her in such low esteem that he thought she would find pleasure in his pain?
    â€˜It’s too soon to have got into the newspapers yet,’ he snarled.
    Then she realized that she had judged him too quickly. He wasn’t referring to his distress over his brother. He was telling her not to crow because there was no mention yet of Glenda’s disappearance. She wouldn’t know either way because she’d only made a token gesture of turning over the pages to let him know she was there. She had been too engrossed in her own thoughts to take in a single word.
    â€˜Even if Glenda had disappeared, it seems probable to imagine that Mr. Channing would wait a day or so for some word about her before making it public knowledge,’ she said with deliberate emphasis.
    His mouth turned sardonic. ‘That’s right. Your father will stew for a few days, waiting for the kidnapper to get in touch with him, because the first thought that will spring to mind is that you’re being held for ransom.’ He showed no charity or mercy for a father’s bitter anguish. Stony indifference would have been preferable to the gloating twist of his mouth as he said, ‘He won’t dare to antagonize anyone or do anything to jeopardize his chances of getting you back. Every time the letter box clicks or the phone rings he’ll break out in a cold sweat.’
    He was reveling in the thought. How could he be so without human feelings? And to think that a few moments ago she had actually felt sorry for him.
    â€˜It won’t enter his mind that you came of your own free will. He’ll think it inconceivable that you decided to stand up to him and go into voluntary hiding.’
    â€˜I did not come voluntarily.’
    Clifford Channing might not rate in anyone’s books as Mr. Good Guy. For all she knew he might have done all the unspeakable things gossip accused him of doing. But there was one thing she did know for certain: his love for his daughter was beyond question. His life revolved round her. Nothing he could have done, short of murder, was bad enough to merit this kind of punishment.
    She realized she was getting het-up for nothing, reacting as if it had really happened. Glenda had not been kidnapped and so Clifford Channing was not going through that kind of mental torture. Right at this moment Glenda was very probably sitting across from her father, enjoying a conversation with him, blissfully ignorant of the fact that but for a lucky mischance (lucky for Glenda, if not for her) she wouldn’t be there.
    Angus came again the next day with another pile of newspapers and provisions. They both knew that none of the newspapers would contain a report of Glenda’s disappearance, Maxwell because he considered it still too early for Clifford Channing to act and expected him to play a waiting game, Gemma because she knew Glenda wasn’t missing.
    But before glancing at a newspaper they had both anxiously searched Angus’s face for a spark of a smile that would suggest an improvement in Ian’s condition. The compassion Gemma felt was none the less real for not knowing Ian. She would have grieved for any young life hanging in the balance.
    Angus said somberly, ‘The same, Mr. Ross, before you ask. I’m sorry I canna bring better.’
    â€˜I know you are, Angus. Take the provisions through to the kitchen, will you? If you talk nicely to Miss Channing I’m sure she’ll put the kettle on for a brew up.’
    â€˜Of course,’ Gemma said, rising to her feet, for once not arguing with Maxwell that Channing was not her name.
    She could have managed to carry the things through to the kitchen without troubling Angus, and it was on the tip of her tongue to say this, but then she realized that Maxwell had made this excuse to get a few moments on his own.
    It further occurred to her that there might be some advantage in having Angus